


Fen'Harel's Fate

by DragonRider1



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood, Dark Imagery/Situations, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Panic, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:26:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5402942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonRider1/pseuds/DragonRider1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The final battle is inevitable. Fen'Harel must fall and Lavellan must be the one to do it. However, the outcome of the battle follows no expectations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fen'Harel's Fate

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Var Lath Vir Suledin (Art)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/162338) by lawlful. 



> Written for Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang on tumblr. A fic for a wonderful art piece done by lawlful, found [here](http://lawlful.tumblr.com/post/135006001687/i-would-treasure-the-chance-to-be-wrong-once). I had fun writing this and it helped a lot to get me back on the writing wagon.

A loud crack echoed through his ears, a deep ridge spidered between aching, familiar golden eyes. There was longing in those eyes reflected back at him and it tore deep into his chest. A burn seared right above his heart and the darkness around the mirror crawled across the reflection, the mirror seeped with black nothingness. Gradually the shadows poured in thin lines across the surface, bars caging those sorrow-filled eyes behind the glass. The knot in his stomach pulled tight and he felt a slow press of his breath from his chest, fear sunk into him and he scrambled to wretch it away. 

He tried to fly his hands up to his throat, claw away for words and make it stop. He needed his own voice, to voice his own needs. Only one arm reached upwards, the other hung limp at his side and only furthered the distress in his heart. Still his good hand wrapped around the invisible vice around his throat, trying to tear away whatever restricted his every breath. He tried to shout as the invisible force lashed out from beneath his palm, a thin line of red drawn across his hand like the black drips of the mirror. Tiny rivulets of blood drew down his dark skin and dripped with loud smacks to the ground below. 

In charge of neither his own words or his own body. His eyes widened and it was mirrored from behind the black barrier, a whimper finally pulled from his throat as blood red vallaslin was carved back into pristine, darkened skin. Red lines etched across his cheeks and down towards his neck. The same tremble shot through him, that he had felt when they had first been applied. 

It was supposed to be about belonging and growing up, about His People, but they weren't. They were fools, stubborn and seated in old lies mixed with half truths. Sera had been right, no matter how much he despised saying that and how much he hated her for that. He had defended 'His People' and he had been wrong, no different than them. Elves chasing old dreams and old traditions, defending stories they never truly knew and history that never truly was. 

As the last mark curved upon his skin, it suddenly faded away. Gold eyes flickered to strong green and he gasped in a breath, the trapped reflection before him morphed away from his own face. 

A slender hand reached through the glass and out to him, breaking away the black tendrils and light poured in as the darkness crumbled away. Raised fingertips brushed against his skin, leaving behind a cold trail from a dried tear. The fingers danced back down his cheek and behind his neck, his savior pulling him towards the mirror with a soothing smile. As he moved closer to the glimmering surface he could feel the knot unwind within him, every bit of fear and sorrow broken down into brittle shards. Every negative feeling ripped away and dismantled by the hands of a friend, by a face he would much rather see than his own. 

"Solas." 

* * *

The air hummed soft and low within his ears, the long, pointed tips twitched as a rhythm pulsed through the fog of his mind. The sound was measured like the beat of a heart, barely thrumming in the background. It penetrated the thick haze that was blinding his attention and was gingerly pulling him, sense by sense, into the world around him. A phantom weight came with the consciousness, weighted like the wool batting of a quilt. Spectral fabric ghosted over his skin in heavy waves of power, the realm he was in warm and comfortable. The taste of musty air and kicked dust rested in the back of his throat. he was now awake enough to know exactly where he was. He was washed in sweet melancholy and overwhelming excitement, with everything this place meant. 

His thoughts filled with sweetened memories of this place, a soft touch and a whisper of divine fingers through his hair. Words spoken and encouraged against the sensitive points of his ears, brushed with the faintest, warmed breath. All around them the Fade would watch, suspended in a world of their own make. Each remembrance a welcome contrast to the cruel place he had been before and he had his guardian to thank, his bright-eyed hero who tore through the darkness. 

A soft swish brought him back to the world on the other side of his eyelids, his sensitive ears twitched again as he waited for the noise to return. The soft ripple of the Fade and near-silence lingered for a bit longer, until finally the sound came again. It was louder now that he was more awake here or rather deeper asleep in his own dreams, a clarity of the Fade only a mage could achieve. He immediately recognized the sound, the page of a book being turned in the emptiness of a room. It made his heart leap and soon he was able to feel the other presence in the room, how it settled over him and mingled with his own intensity. Magic rushed just under the surface of his skin and reached for his companion's, it made his every sense so much more aware. His hair felt pricked on end and his skin buzzed with static, the color of wisdom and a storm coming across the sea caressed over him like a lover's hand. Slow and careful, but so bright and strong; almost blinding, even with his eyes shut. 

" _Vhen'an'ara_ , the dream tonight..." Canden's voice carried through the empty space around him and up through the room with an echo, the rotunda tonight then. A long length of silence followed and if not for the aura still hugging close to him, he could have easily believed himself alone in the darkness once more. 

Someone cleared their throat and Canden jerked at the unexpected sound, a short chuckle following when he jumped. 

"Forgive me, _'ma vhen'an_ I would not have interfered, but you were too restless for sleep and...your limb was bothering you." The deep voice instantly brought more calm, comfort, the last dregs of the nightmare drained away. Canden lulled deeper into the Fade and colored everything around him sharper, he felt breath pass through his lips and each twitch was voluntary. 

With a languidness, Canden finally opened his eyes. He was met with a moment of bleary brown mixed with striking green, the world around taking time to contort into the rotunda he had believed it to be. His golden gaze lidded as he sought out the figure seated across from him, his companion rooted behind his desk with a book in his lap and his attention seemed carefully given to each word. 

As the quiet sieved back in, Canden was left to his own intrigues. His eyes wandered over to the solid, wooden desk before his company. He could barely make out the titles of the tales, stories 'His People' had passed around. Though he was sure most of the tales on the table were filled with more accuracy, than the half-truths and mistakes the Dalish revered. The villains his clan feared more often the heroes of old, while their true villains were worshipped with reverence. They did not even care for the truths, to caught on the old prejudices to listen to what had truly been of their Creators. Of how the greatest of them, were no more than Tricksters and the Trickster himself was the most humble of them all. 

With a huff, Canden drew himself back to the man at the desk. Attentive eyes willed to instead trace over the cozy familiar knitwear and the barest definition of muscle beneath it. His gaze swept up the wisdom and practicality, following the gradual change of earthy green to the supple pallor of skin. Crisp lines molded into a sharp jaw and pulled to a point, before being rounded into a strong chin. Canden could practically feel the smooth skin beneath his fingers, each freckle counted and locked to memory. How he wanted to run his lips across the planes and ridges, press them against the shallow mark just between the other man's brow. Let the scent of the earth and the tang of magic dip him into a place of longing, of being free once more. 

Canden's eyes lowered from the dug scar and he froze, held in place by glimmering grey-green eyes and a far too smug smirk. 

"What?" 

"Nothing, _'ma vhen'an_." Solas glanced back down to his book, his lips curled higher to the side and Canden narrowed his eyes at the small twist. 

" _Vhen'an'ara._ " Canden's words demanded, despite the endearment. A chuckle spilled from Solas and he coolly closed the book in his lap. The older elf crossed his legs, his elbow rested on the arm of the chair and his chin on his fist. Those vivid amused eyes set on Canden again. 

"It is your smile. You forget yourself and you smile with a brightness that rivals the Fade itself." Solas chuckled again and Canden felt the piercing gaze too deep within him, seeing far more that it should and doing so far too often. He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks, all the way up to his ears and down his chest. The thin, low-necked top, he had worn to bed, made the red glow all the more obvious and Canden felt the sudden drop of his stomach. 

He slid onto his back, the satin lounge beneath him rubbed against his oversensitive skin and further irritated his nerves. Canden busied himself with the walls of the rotunda, concentrated on the gorgeous frescoes. 

The color popped with so much more intensity in the Fade, as if they moved with the life they depicted. The talent and time that went into them was awe-inspiring, no matter how many nights he spent in the lonely rotunda and stared at his own accomplishments lovingly rendered upon the tall walls. All the time it had taken Solas to re-imagine and recreate those deeds. To make the Inquisitor feel as proud of those exploits, as Solas did of the colors he so skillfully dabbed upon the walls. 

" _'Ma vhen'an_ " The endearment slid across Canden before Solas' shadow, the lanky elf stood above him and watched him carefully. A lone, heavy wisp reached out to Canden and Canden's own feeling reached back, unsure of what it was and only that it was settling to know Solas felt it too. That here, Solas was...well here, that here they could be together. 

Solas reached down and Canden closed his eyes, feeling those same divine fingers comb through his silken, white hair. The older mage's thumb caught against his cheek and the weathered pad swept over his dark, cleared skin. The old elf traced the edged swirls of Canden's old markings into the skin, the sensation lingered behind in trails and Canden's throat tightened. Even when Solas pulled away, the touch clung in Canden's mind and he found himself pushing forward off the lounge to follow the thin, rough-textured fingers. Though Canden found nothing but air and the bitter taste on his tongue, comprised of pushed duties and 'have to's. 

"They keep coming to me, even now when it is all done. That I have to do it and stop it. They keep on and keep on, that I have to face you! As if I don't know!" Canden's voice raised, as he felt the heat of his skin sink inwards and boil in his gut. The words forced out, while his throat constricted further and he clenched his eyes tighter shut. "It isn't what I want!" 

A light press against the barely puckered tip of Canden's arm seemed to instantly diffuse his anger, blown out in a sudden rush like a candle before bed. Graceful fingers danced over the scarred flesh and sent shudders up the Canden's arm, he slowly slid his eyelids open again and watched Solas' fingers run along the green-stained marks forever weaved in the flesh. 

"We cannot always do what we want to do, when it comes to what we must do. Sometimes, we must do what is necessary to fix what our wants have done." Solas' whisper laid over Canden, the other elf still brushing over the severed injury and up to Canden's shoulder. A reminder that Solas was still not done with his own 'must's and 'want's. 

" _Vhe'nana'ara_. There is never just one path or one truth, and you never have to take the one that is given to you...I was taught that when I was lost." 

Canden reached with his good arm and laced his fingers with the ones still on him, he pulled their twined hands over him and stared at the mingled pale with dark. His gaze traveled upwards to those regretful eyes and Solas' lips quirked in the slightest. 

"Perhaps, but this is my burden to bear and my mistake to fix. This is the path I have chosen for myself long ago, whether it was one I intended or not. I have traveled so many paths and seen much of what each offers, yet none have been as weary as the one I have traveled alone and lived to see the its end. I am truly sorry, _'ma vhen'an_. My journey now runs straight and narrow." Solas smiled a bit wider and squeezed Canden's hand tighter, though his eyes remained dim and distant. "I did not bring you to hear this. I sought you out to relax and center yourself, for the coming decisions you alone must make." 

Solas nudged Canden's shoulder and the younger elf scooted over in the lounge, offering what space he could on the small piece of furniture. Solas laid down beside him and curled his arm underneath Canden, pulling the slightly shorter elf over his side and half on top of him. Solas' other arm wrapped over Canden to hold him in place and Canden immediately buried his face in Solas' neck, a breath of warm earth and the bite of magic rolled over him. 

The lounge dropped out from under them for a brief moment and the weightlessness caused Canden to clutch at Solas' tunic, before silken covers rested around them and a sturdy mattress laid beneath them. Canden did not have to look up, to know they had settled into his bed at Skyhold or at least what the Fade could offer in its place. The same spot they had laid in so many times before. Where regrets and reluctant sincerity had been shed, admitted to the embraces of two elves who shared more than a sheet. Where they would continue on until they were so emotionally drained, that nothing more than old stories would come from their lips. There had been stories of the Creators, the Elvhens' journeys, and the Dread Wolf, but then those had been weights cast off too. 

"It is said that Andruil once bound the Dread Wolf for his crimes, tied to a tree and expected to pay for his crimes. His punishment would be to serve in her bed for a year and one day." 

" _'Ma vhen'an_." Solas let out a curt chuckle, his fingers danced through Canden's hair again. "Another story?" 

"Yes." Canden's voice sounded so small to himself and he curled tighter into Solas' embrace, within the warmth that surrounded him and promised to keep him safe, for now. "A Forgotten One came across them as Andruil made camp for the night and claimed he would be the one to kill Fen'Harel for his crimes. The Dread Wolf proposed the warring Gods duel for his fate..." 

* * *

A thick chill ran along his spine the instant his foot touched the ground. It was as if the weight of the world, strapped to his fur-covered shoulders, had finally buckled his spine with one, sharp snap. He was waiting for it to happen, almost wishing that it was the snap of bone or even a trick of his mind, not the absolute circumstances laid out before him. This inevitable meeting between' the lone wolf and the proud hunter, finally come to a head. 

"You came, _lethallin_." The voice clear and concise, each word so carefully measured and controlled. It was so different than last night, when words bared heart and now wore steel. The welcoming tone thick with a knowing pain underneath and levered at the widened crack in Canden's heart, sending him back to the nightmare he slid into last night. Still he could not stop the soft curve of his lips, even if he cared to, not if this would be the last he'd have to smile. 

"I did. As I said I would." Canden's breath low, but it ran like a rush of wind through the stillness of the Crossroads. He was uncertain of what would come next, who would cast the first stone and send what hung between them tumbling down. "Solas-" 

"Inquisitor!" The mirror behind Canden sung again, black armor melted through the surface. The silence of being between worlds broken by the clatter of greaves, as Cassandra pushed through the Eluvian. She was followed by another shrill tune and the appearance of brown leather, chest hair, and eventually Varric in all his glory. 

"Giggles." Varric nodded towards the elf across the clearing, while Cassandra looked on with suspicion. 

"Varric, Cassandra." Solas finally turned on his heel to look at his friends, his face mostly shadowed with the bright light of the Eluvian set behind him. Though his glittering armor threw reflections and roughly traced out his features within the Eluvian's white light and dim shadows. With his head tilted up in the slightest, he looked every bit like the Dread Wolf to his right. Stiff and guarded, he turned up to howl out the injustices and his duty to correct them. It wore on Canden, he wanted to stop Solas before he was no different than the Dread Wolf his people feared and damned. 

"What's the matter Giggles, no great greeting for old friends?" Varric grinned despite the situation, hands gesturing to them all together again. 

"I'm afraid I have long lost the right to call you friends, Varric." Solas' thin lips lifted into a tiny smile as well, though it barely shone through the wall reflected in those deep, knowing eyes. 

"You have! We cannot allow you to continue these traitorous actions, for Thedas and for the Inquisitor!" Cassandra snarled at the man across the way, her hand already drawing her sword with a sharp pull and the loud screech of metal. 

"Cassandra." Canden's voice chilled his own ears and yet he could not bring himself to remorse, that constricted feeling boiled in his chest again. Though it burned cold, chilling his bones and he could feel it tremble in his fingertips. "I am no Inquisitor, not any more. Do not claim to know what I want." 

The warmth only flowed back in when that rare, throaty laugh echoed off the fallen walls. A thick self-deprecating tone buried beneath it and gave Canden pause. 

" _'Ma vhen'an_ , she is not wrong, about either of us. I have thought long on what must be done here. I cannot go back and you cannot move on. We are at an impasse that cannot go uncorrected any longer." Solas' words coated in indifference, in a statement of fact and the warmth flared to a penetrating burn that seared at Canden's skin. 

"You don't have to do this! There are people here, on this side that can offer familiarity. The People, those people can rise again with a leader to guide them, to show them the truth!" 

" _'Ma vhen'an_." Solas' voice was so gentle, as if lightly chastising a little one who did not know they were doing wrong. It was like a nightmare, to be told you had failed the one you looked to for strength and this time there was no embrace or rotunda to wake up in. "There was a time when such optimism would never have been a thought in your mind, you come so far and grown so much. I am glad to have seen it, even if it is born from misunderstanding." 

"It's not, it's because of you. There is always another way, another choice." Canden's words were just short of a plea, to press Solas to see that he could still grow too and change his own path. Just as Solas had changed Canden. 

"You may never understand it as I do, this is what is necessary." Solas' tone final as it sliced more power into the air, Solas' magic crackled around him in that sharp, green hue. 

"Inquisitor...we have no choice." Cassandra's voice grated Canden to the bone and he never felt such a distaste for the Seeker as he did now. She was not wrong, she had not been wrong, and did nothing wrong, but this...this was Solas. The man who showed him that his decisions could be his own and there was always a decision, no matter who you faced. 

Canden gritted his teeth and nodded, reaching for the staff on his back. Cassandra stepped in front of him, her shield held before her and Varric off to his side. Across the clearing Solas nodded as well, his magic jumped into the ruins and spirits housed within rose up around them. The lightning-hued specters marched towards them, the short lull only lasting a moment. 

The tension gave away to the sound of metal on metal and the clicking of Varric's bow, Canden fell into his place as he pulled his staff with his good arm and wrapped a barrier around the others. He twisted his wrist with each spell he flung into the fray of spirits, the support of the leather bracer welcome as each ice blast glittered from the metal tip and fire skittered from the focus point. Spirit after spirit set aflame or frozen solid, leaving Cassandra to shatter them with a thrust of her shield and Varric to stop them in their panicked attacks with an arrow to the throat. Canden's mind wiped blank as he fought for only his life, letting the adrenaline of battle guide him shot after shot. 

A rock fist slammed against a renewed barrier, cracking through the thin gloss of magic and slammed into his gut. Canden gasped, thrown off his center. He barely caught a spirit edging in on him, sword high over its head and ready to strike. He brought his staff up the best he could to meet the sword, though a one-handed grip with no support stance did little and his staff twisted out of his hand. His heart beat wildly and a pit set into his stomach as the spirit raised its sword again. 

Canden let out a shout as he was slammed in the chest, Cassandra's armor taking the blow for him and he collapsed back into a broken Eluvian. His wide, golden eyes barely focused on Cassandra holding her own against the army of spirits, Varric's input only helped so much as the spirits chased after them both. They were protecting him and even now he was still failing, when there was no pressure of an Inquisition hovering over him. His friends were risking their lives voluntarily, to give him a chance to face his demons without being alone, and yet he still could not overcome his own battles. 

His eyes and throat burned from the inside, he let the anger, hurt, and distress overtake him. He was tired of being useless, unable to save anyone he cared about. He let out a short hiccup that turned into a muffled whimper, tears spilled over and trailed wet paths down his cheeks. He tried to make himself smaller, but was stopped by a loud crack. Beneath him glass crunched and unthinking Canden clutched at a large piece of mirror right beneath his palm. The black shard dug into the narrow skin of his fingers and the sharp, shock of pain shot up his arm. The quick, screaming pulse across his nerves brought him back to the world before him. His life spilled through his fingers and pooled red, the commands of a man he cared for so deeply rang in his ears. Slowly he lifted his head and focused on the general across the battlefield, tall and proud with slender, chiseled features. 

It took only a glint from the armor, as Solas flung another spell at his old companions. The light reflected across those stormy, sea green eyes before crashing into Canden's eyes. In an instant he was on his knees and then his feet before he could even recall how, his body drove him across the field without thought. Weaving in and out of the battle with strong barriers and quick blasts, propelled by the waves of emotions washed through him and licking at those cracks across his heart. He was unsure if it was the breaking of his heart or the shard he refused to drop, dug deep in his hand, that sent the biting aches through his chest. 

"Enough!" Canden let out a cry as he launched himself at Solas with a Fade Step. The incandescent shard sunk deep into Solas' chest with trembling fingers, the impact took Solas backwards on his feet and Canden was dragged along. A quick exhale escaped Solas and his staggered, weight was caught by the Eluvian, waves sang as his shoulders started to seep into the mirror. The rest of the clearing suddenly froze silent around them, the spirits coming to a standstill. 

Canden trembled against Solas' form and let the sting of the mirror through his hand fill him, rested right alongside the pain of this sacrifice. He let out a shuddered breath of his own and his finally eyes focused back to what laid before him, his attention fixated on Solas' blood as it bubbled around his fist. The deep red stained the grand armor along with his own blood, dripping across the tunic and smeared across the askewed chest plate. 

"I'm sorry, _vhen'an'ara_. I'm so sorry!" Canden's voice quivered as much as his grasp, his heart thumped loud in his head and made the tears push down Canden's cheeks faster. 

"As am I... _'ma vhen'an_." There was a smile in the whispered words, though Canden still refused to look up and clutched tighter at the shard in his hand. His shudders grew into a whimper and then a sob, he barely recognized the dying songs from Eluvians around him. He felt his legs lose feeling as hurt rushed over him, all of his weight inclined into Solas and his legs buckled beneath them. 

A moment of weightlessness surround them, the mirror around them rang louder and Canden could feel the pull of it through Solas. They both slid backward, Canden quickly wrapped in cutting regret and tight warmth, before a slow, chilling consumption ran across his skin and he was pulled in. 

"Inquisitor!" 

The was battle lost. 

* * *

The Seeker growled and ran for the mirror, the same mirror the Inquisitor had just tipped head first into with Giggles. The spirits had sank back into the ruins as soon as Giggles had disappear through the magical glass thingy. It was black, dead now. No shimmering light or pretty little song welcoming the Inquisitor back, no better than Daisy's mirror. It settled a deep, rumbling pit in Varric's stomach, it felt like Adamant and the not knowing all over again. 

The Seeker shook the mirror, her lips pressed so tight together he worried that her face would split at the seams. The way her eyes flicked across the mirror, looking' for a hint of what to do. She shouted for the Inquisitor, for Giggles, and the Maker, and Varric couldn't help but pray that one of them would answer. That, Maker giving, the mirror would light up again, the Inquisitor would walk back through, and they could all have a good laugh about it later. 

This was no joke though, even a fool could have seen the Inquisitor and Giggles had something there. It was something far deeper than one should have felt for an antagonist of their own story, but then the Inquisitor always hated those stories. Though even the most miserable elf in Thedas, would have to admit his fate was the most poetic shit in all of Thedas. Dragged into a mirror with the corpse of the man he loved, in their final battle and with no hope of return. It wasn't a victory, a lie, or a happy ending, it's was the one tale he would have enjoyed. 

Another cutoff ring brought Varric's attention back to the original issue and it felt shitty, but Varric knew he had to make the decision this time. 

"Seeker, we got to go! Now!" 

"Varric! We can't-" The Seeker whipped around with a fire blazing in her eyes and Varric met her head on with his own stern look, She was welcome to knock him around once they escaped the mirrors of doom, but now was not the time. 

"We'll be no help if we are stuck here too!" Varric reached for the Seeker's arm and pulled, another quick, rare prayer from a sinning man with a hope their way had yet to snuff out. They sprinted across the empty field and straight through the mirror, the wavering of the glass compounded with sickening feeling that came naturally with the place. 

It was the same through each area, out of one mirror and into another, with a hope that the next mirror would still be there to pass through and take them closer to home. Varric watched as each mirror they passed by blinked out and died, each a reminder that the Inquisitor laid behind one and it didn't do shit for his stomach. Lone, black halls left behind them, now that the key master was long dead and his lover long gone. 

Finally they melted through the last mirror, hitting the floor on the right side of the Veil and almost collapsing right there. The framed glass blackened right behind them, leaving behind a useless mirror without even a reflection. 

Varric sighed and pulled his hand across his face, looking up to find questioning and worried face pointed at them. Several eyes flickered between the dark surface behind them and their rumpled appearances, him and the Seeker shared. As if they were waiting for the joke to be over, for him to bust out laughing and assure them the Inquisitor was fine. That he was well on his way out, with his demons conquered for good. He wasn't, they weren't and the only punchline was to their guts as Varric shook his head. The taste of bile in his throat as Curly looked away from all of them, Nightingale faced down the mirror with her infamous stoicism, and Ruffles quickly covered her mouth; though her sobs made it past the fragile barrier anyways. 

I'm sorry, he isn't coming back. 

* * *

The call of whippoorwills and the chirp of crickets pierced through his deep slumber and gently pulled him out of it. His limbs felt like unbeaten steel, while his head felt like a beaten blade and discouraged him from ever wanting to move. Instead he simply laid there in the dark of his eyelids, listening to nature thrive around him and keep his jumbled thoughts company. 

Wind blew over his practically numb skin and carried the tang of blood in the air, the metallic taste of it in his mouth made his stomach churn in turn. As if the guilt and disorientation hadn't been enough. 

He begun to feel more of his body, a pressure boiled out of his gut and into his throat. An acidic taste joined the flavor of blood and stung at his throat. He went to curl in on himself, protect himself from the cold and the pain that kept seeping in. Only to find he couldn't and another pressure built behind his eyes, he struggled against the vices pressed to his side and stifled a sob in his throat. His mind flashed with the image of Solas' corpse pinning him down from above, the cold, dead eyes watching as he suffocated from the weight. However, the grip around him gave away far easier than he realized and he immediately laid still again, bringing his breathing back down and listening to the calmed landscape around him. 

A soft thrum made itself into the relaxing song surrounding him, though he could feel the tears push past his clenched eyelids. The faint noise nudged at something within him and he wished he could recognize what, though the panic had made his head thump worst. The loud haze within his mind left no room for scrutinize the world around him, as being more than it was. 

After a few more filling breaths, he slid his eyes open. His eyelids slotted just enough to see the pale light of the moon from beneath his long, white lashes. Shadows were cast in bright light for a long distance, old ruins and ancient battlefields that looked long forgotten stretched to the horizon. Fields decorated in carved, crumbled rock, old tombs, and archaic weapons, all seen from upon the stone pillar he rested on. He was somewhere outside the Eluvians, that much he could feel and yet nowhere near any nation he could recall. The light sound of running water poured in behind the nightlife and awakened his curiosity, if it were a river perhaps he could figure out where he was. 

Carefully Canden raised his head, the white light of the moon reflected off the polished metals beneath him and into his eye. The source took a moment to register and his hand slammed down to set himself upright, once it had. 

His vision swam from the too quick movement and an abrupt, ragged cry was forced out of his lips, his flooded gaze pulled from the curiosity to his hand and the long slice through it. His hand was crusted in dried blood and it throbbed with every heartbeat, the deep cut raw, dirtied, and glittered with shards left behind from the Eluvian piece. He gently blew away the dirt from the reddened skin, a hiss stretched out from the puff of air. 

Once he was done with his hand, Canden cautiously looked away from his hand and back to his perch. He watched the body he had slept upon for any signs of movement. Solas stayed though, rested with his arms spread out and his once impressive robes stained red with dark, dried blood. Though the Eluvian shard was missing from the lurid, jagged wound, perhaps consumed when they had passed through. 

Canden went to return to his wounds with his curiosity satisfied, but paused as the smallest movement caught his eyes. Those golden orbs widened and he held down his own breath as he waited for the motion again, time stretched on too long before he finally caught a soft, delayed rise of the cloth-layered chest. 

For a split second he worried that perhaps his mind was tormenting him, that he was creating hope when there was none to be had. He had to know though, be certain that this was what it truly seemed to be and so he scooted closer to Solas and leaned down. His long ear pressed against the other elf's soft lips and he waited, the moment he held there dragging on for an eternity again. Suddenly a faint brush of a wet breath rushed across the skin and he recoiled fast once more, his own breath faltering. What was left of it forming around the other's man name and then around a promise. 

Canden Lavellan would make sure there was a world worth coming back to, where The People were their own and their legacy was their own. Where Pride could thrive and Wisdom would grow. 

He was alive. 

_And as the Creator and the Forgotten One succumbed to their injuries. They drew into deep slumbers, both resting away the otherwise fatal wounds the other God had caused. All the while, the Trickster chewed through the ropes and escaped unharmed._


End file.
